


Lungs encased in ice (the shards won't let me speak)

by Arualiaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Baggage, Established Harrymort, M/M, Porn with some plot, Quiet Sex, Vulnerability, is it really cuckolding if the person you're letting your partner fuck is technically still yourself, overcoming shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arualiaa/pseuds/Arualiaa
Summary: Harry is so quiet during sex. Voldemort might have found a solution to that.





	Lungs encased in ice (the shards won't let me speak)

Harry was so quiet during sex.

He was so vocal about everything else, however. The boy wasn’t afraid to raise his voice in time with his Gryffindor temper, express his frustration in grunts at he back of his throat, or make appreciative sounds when he ate good food. He laughed when he was happy, snickered when he remembered a joke in his head and the situation did not call for it, and spoke his mind freely.

It wasn’t that Harry was a quiet person. No, he just was during sex.

The first time, Voldemort thought it had been purposeful. He hadn’t exactly _expressed_ his vocal consent on the matter, Voldemort had recently gotten his mentor killed, and he was… well, obviously no longer classically handsome.

He had also been a captive back then. Yes, that might also be a factor contributing to the silence.

He’d been confused, then, when Harry’s _body_ responded to him instead, skin flushed and member hard and leaking against his stomach, and when he locked eyes with the boy and slipped into his mind with ease, he could see he was terrified.

Terrified of how much he _wanted_ it. How much he was enjoying it. Guilty for doing so.

The silence befuddled him, then, as he saw Harry’s mouth part as he climaxed between them, hard, and not a sound escaped his throat.

Voldemort had tried many times, then, to get him to be vocal about the pleasure he could no longer deny. He’d hissed the filthiest words in his ears, only earning him an erratic heartbeat and an interested twitch of his cock.

The silence unnerved him just a little, but these reactions were worth it. And do not let it be said that Lord Voldemort did not enjoy a good challenge.

He had edged him, last time. Brought him closer and closer to ecstasy, and took it away from him just as he was about to claim it. A mere twenty minutes in, and Harry’s pupils were blown wide with lust, tears pricking at the corners, body trembling with desperation.

“You shall come when you have earned it,” Voldemort had said, hoping this was it, this was it…

Harry’s lips parted, then, and Voldemort saw him physically struggle to form words.

“Please…” he said breathlessly, a choked whisper, so so quiet. “Please, let me come…”

Voldemort didn’t exactly mean _begging_ , but there was no way he could say no to that.

“Come for me,” he crooned, finally allowing the boy his release.

And it might have been because he’d already spoken words, but when Harry orgasmed, it was with a sharp exhale of breath, audible if one was pressed as close to him as Voldemort was.

It wasn’t a moan, but it was _progress_.

Voldemort had tiptoed around his mind then, when he was still dazed and exhausted by his intense undoing. What he found was very revealing.

Harry had been like this since his sexual awakening. Voldemort could taste the shame in his tongue, dense and thick, as Harry pleasured himself in his Gryffindor dorm while other boys slept, sometimes in the shower, sometimes in a room covered in Quidditch posters as Weasley snored in a bed a few paces away. Hot, torturous shame coated every action, freezing his lungs and throat in place, slowing his movements. He was meticulous in his clean-up.

And _oh_ , when he stayed with his muggle relatives, the shame was replaced with _fear_. As Harry gave in to his hormonal urges, Voldemort could see sometimes he’d even stop _breathing,_ as if the simple act would give him away and awaken his furious muggle uncle.

The silence was so ingrained in him, buried as deep as the Horcrux embedded in his soul, Voldemort pondered for a second if he would never be able to break it. So he dug deeper.

This self-restraint extended even to wet dreams. Harry screamed himself hoarse during nightmares, but the pleasure was his alone to keep, no one the wiser.

No one but Voldemort now, of course. And he was pleased by what he found.

A pair of crimson eyes and a chiselled pale face, kissing Harry instead of Hepzibah Smith’s hand. Getting his wicked way with him in countless ways.

Lord Voldemort was not one to share, but he might make an exception with _himself_.

Perhaps this would be what pushed Harry over the brink.

* * *

Getting his hands on the _real_ locket had been an ordeal. It had taken much prompting from both Bellatrix _and_ Narcissa to get the old, barmy house elf to give it to them, even with Voldemort’s express permission to denounce him and curse his name to convince the blasted, traitorous creature.

He was sure Bellatrix had squirmed through the whole thing. But nothing had been sweeter than decapitating Regulus Black’s undead body in the lake.

Now that it was in his possession and thrumming with his soul, though…

“Harry?”

The teen was sitting on a comfortable armchair by the fire, petting Nagini.

 _Voldemort_ ’s armchair. And his familiar.

The cheek of this brat…

“Mmh?” His soft, questioning noise meant he’d caught him off-guard, relaxed. Something in him almost wanted to let him fall asleep in front of the fire and watch his peaceful expression.

But not tonight. Tonight, Voldemort was on a mission, as was the horcrux in his pocket. He’d been delighted at the idea when Voldemort told him of his plan, shared some choice memories with him…

The locket had spent fifty years without another’s touch, and his desire to watch Harry’s walls break completely matched Voldemort’s with a burning intensity.

Oh, well. He’d been passionate in his youth, what could he say?

“Harry, I wish to try something tonight. Come here,” Voldemort said.

Curiously, the boy blinked at him, carefully laying Nagini down on the armchair with one last, gentle caress. _She_ had fallen asleep, apparently. Harry walked towards him. “Yeah? What is it?”

Despite his nonchalance, a slight blush was creeping up his neck, cluing Voldemort into the fact that Harry suspected at least the very basics.

He only hummed in response, taking Harry’s hand in his, and leading him to the bedroom. He could _feel_ Harry’s anticipation thrumming pleasantly through their link. Voldemort chuckled.

“What are you plotting now?” Harry tried for annoyance, he could tell, but there was a tinge of breathlessness in his tone. Oh, how he wanted to hear more of it.

“How impatient. You shall see…” Voldemort said enigmatically. “Just a little… experiment.”

Harry was _definitely_ interested. Voldemort took his sweet time undressing him, trailing soft caresses as he exposed his skin, a lover’s touch. He most certainly deserved his gentleness now, before the sweet torture that was awaiting him.

After all, Voldemort _had_ been a passionate lover in his youth, lacking the infinite amounts of self-control and the cool head that allowed him to tease Harry to no end, with clinical precision. Yes, perhaps a bit of change, to spice things up, would make him crumble.

Even if he had to share. The thought ticked him a little, which was ridiculous, because it was _himself_ , but still.

He kissed Harry, fully naked and aroused, and the teen melted against him, his pulse erratic. As he caressed the insides of his mouth with his serpentine tongue, Voldemort led him to the bed, and with a practiced motion of wandless magic, bound his hands to the bedpost.

Harry was familiar with this. Voldemort had taken him bound, eagle-spread even, a few times now. But what he hadn’t expected, Voldemort could tell, was for him to pull out the locket, warm and pulsing, and place it around his neck, sitting on his bare chest.

“Wha…?” Harry said, looking at him with questioning eyes. “But this is…”

Oh, he knew Harry could tell. Voldemort pressed another kiss to his lips.

“I know. Enjoy yourself, Harry.”

And with this, the horcrux _tugged_ at Harry’s consciousness, pulling them into his mindscape, as Voldemort sat back, relaxed, and watched the show. It would be like watching Harry having a wet dream, except he _knew_ who was in control of it.

Oh, how interesting it could be.

* * *

Harry frowned slightly at the unpleasant tug that reminded him slightly of apparition.

He was still in the same bed, though. In the same position, bound and naked, and painfully hard. Everything had a slight green tint to it, like the Slytherin Common Room, but he _knew_ it was still Voldemort’s bedroom.

Only Voldemort wasn’t there.

Tom Riddle, in his twenties, was looking at him with a dangerous, hungry expression in his eyes. They glowed crimson, and his sharp, angular features were as handsome as ever, even more so _in person_.

Because this was no dream. This was his actual soul, and Harry’s body was bare for his scrutiny, his lustful gaze.

 _Oh fuck_. Harry’s erection _throbbed_ , this almost felt too good to be real.

And the man hadn’t even touched him yet.

“Harry…” Riddle purred, taking slow, deliberate steps towards the bed, making him _wait_ and _need_ and _keen_ in anticipation. Like a predator stalking its prey. “What a beautiful sight you make. My main self’s words could not do you justice.”

Harry _wanted_ to whine at the praise, but his throat seized violently, and all he could do was wheeze softly, his chest falling and raising with his laboured breathing. The locket was still on him, bobbing gently.

“Ah, yes. I am aware of your… little predicament,” Riddle said, cocking his head with a little lopsided smirk. It made Harry’s heart do a triple backflip. _Fuck, fuck, fuck…_ “Truthfully, I do not _really_ need to hear your pretty voice, screaming yourself hoarse in pleasure, because you see, Harry…”

Riddle leaned in close, so close Harry could see his rounded pupils, so different from Voldemort’s reptilian slits.

“I have already seen your heart, and it is _mine_.”

Harry shuddered, and he was pretty sure the simple mention of his heart from Riddle’s darkly amused lips had actually _stopped_ it for a second there.

“But I want to,” Riddle continued, a bit theatrically, but Harry was a bit too hazy with lust to care. Long, slender fingers stroked his hair, gently, but he could feel the possessiveness there. “Nothing would please me more than hear you moan in ecstasy, beg for me to let you come, and when I finally allow it, hear you cry out and whimper as I take you through your orgasm. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”

Harry nodded, feverishly. This little speech was _getting_ to him. _Just keep talking,_ Harry thought, and it was so sudden it surprised even himself. _Keep talking and I might just come untouched_.

Those fingers tugged on his hair a bit, not enough to hurt, but a call for his attention.

“I believe I asked you a question. Answer.”

Oh. _Oh_ , that’s what he was doing. Merlin… could he do this?

“Y-yes…” He managed to rasp out. “That would… be wonderful…”

Riddle’s crimson eyes darkened, not with anger, but with lust. “Yes, that’s it… tell me what you want. With words. I shall do nothing unless you tell me, verbally, what you want.”

Oh no… that would be the death of him, Harry knew. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to get his body to cooperate, form the words at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to quip at Riddle, there was something about him that sparked defiance in him, that told Harry that if he got him worked up he’d get it _rough_ , and that was so appealing, so goddamn _appealing_ but the words got lodged in his throat.

“I suppose I will sit here all night, then. Doing nothing.” Riddle sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes darkened with lust, but apparently, seeing Harry squirm was enough to quell his desire and wait a bit longer. “Nothing at all.”

Harry could _tell_ somehow, perhaps on instinct or perhaps because he was already used to reading more inhuman expressions, that Riddle wasn’t as patient as Voldemort was. It sent a jolt of anticipation down his spine, and he was torn in two.

On one hand, he could easily give in to his comfortable silence, and simply wait until Riddle snapped and took his frustration out on him, fucking him into the mattress with a bruising pace.

Or, he could fight against his own body, his very instincts, and feel _alive_. In his fantasies, he’d relished in his own defiance, biting back, meeting his thrusts, countering Riddle’s poisonous words with his own comebacks.

“You…” Harry finally said, struggling against his breathlessness.

“Yes, Harry? You were saying?”

“You’re… wearing too many clothes, arsehole.”

Riddle turned to face him, and his shock melted into a slowly widening grin. “My. You are silent but not the submissive type, are you?” He licked his lips, and it made Harry’s erection throb. “Yes, it will be fun to break your silence. And then I will break _you._ ”

The thrill of his words had Harry panting for air. He would fight him every step of the way, of course, but the dark promise in those words… Harry wanted, _yearned_ to be absolutely wrecked, it was almost scary.

“You did not ask very nicely, but it is progress. Very good, Harry,” Riddle crooned, as he started disrobing. Underneath he wore a brown muggle-style sleeveless sweater, and a white dress shirt and black pants. It was a bit old-fashioned perhaps, but on Riddle it looked timeless, just like him. “Ah, do you like what you see? I am getting the distinct impression that you also like what you _hear_ , Harry. Who would think one as quiet as you would have a fetish for dirty talk?”

Harry writhed, clamping his teeth down on his bottom lip as he stared in annoyance that he would bring it up, even as a flush spread from his cheeks down to his neck and chest. _Fuck, he was observant_.

Riddle pulled the sweater vest over his head, and slowly, almost teasingly, began to undo the buttons on his shirt, staring at Harry intently. As more and more flesh was revealed, Harry’s lids lowered to a half-mast, eyes clouded with desire.

“Do you like what you see?” Riddle repeated, his eyes sharp. “Would you like to see more, perhaps?”

It took Harry a few beats to realize it wasn’t a rhetorical question. His tongue stuck to his palate, and he forced it to work. “Y-yes…”

“Yes to what, Harry? I believe I asked you two questions.”

Ah, the goddamn awful bastard wasn’t making this easy at all! Harry _knew_ what he was doing. He was trying to keep him vocal, so when he would lose himself in his pleasure, his words would become garbled and his silence would break.

It was torture. Speaking while he was aroused was harder than breaking the Imperius, something in his brain shifted, and he couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t…

But he _had to_.

“Yes… to both,” and his voice was faltering, the stirrings of panic slowly making themselves known through his lust, not enough to control him, but present nonetheless, putting him on edge.

Perhaps Riddle sensed he was reaching his limit. When he was done undressing, his own erection standing proudly and everything in Harry ached to _feel_ it, he studied the younger man carefully.

Harry was breathless at the sight of him.

Literally.

“Breathe,” Riddle commanded, but his lungs refused to work. And then he leaned closer, and closer, and closer, and…

Soft lips were pressed against his, turning his brain to mush. The many times he’d _wanted_ this, ever since a sixteen year old Riddle had been his first ever crush, and it was finally happening.

They were snogging, and Harry wasn’t sure when their tongues had started dancing around each other, but he still wasn’t breathing. It was okay, though. He could pass out like this. Shite, he might as well suffocate and die in his arms, he was in Heaven already.

Riddle pulled away, and Harry took in greedy, big lungfuls of air, he was gasping, too loud for comfort, but it was like a crack in his barrier. The kiss had relaxed him, and when he felt like he wouldn’t pass out, Riddle dove right in, once more.

Harry made sure to breathe through his nose this time around. Their chests were touching, and while his member was unattended, the skilful tongue in his mouth sent liquid pleasure through his veins.

It was nothing like Voldemort’s, whose alien, forked tongue could drive Harry absolutely wild. But it was _human_ , and just as good, and even though the differences were clear, Harry knew he enjoyed them both.

Because that tongue belonged to the same person, after all.

While he was distracted, Riddle _bit_ his lips.

Harry made a muffled sound, and it startled them both. Where had _that_ come from?

Riddle pulled away, triumphantly, lapping at his lips with an apologetic tongue.

“That’s… cheating,” Harry said when he found his voice, glaring at the young Dark Lord.

“Oh, Harry. When did I ever say I was above that?” Riddle replied, with a dark chuckle. “The lines between pain and pleasure can blur very easily, you know.”

Harry knew. He was _very_ aware, because one didn’t simply leave the Dark Lord’s bed without learning that lesson.

But where Voldemort was meticulous in his sweet, sweet torture, Riddle was rough around the edges.

Harry had _wanted_ it rough. But if the bastard kept pulling stunts like that… he didn’t know what he might end up doing.

“Well? Is this all you want to do? I could stare at you all night, if you would prefer. Steal the breath from your lungs with a kiss every once in a while, to keep you on your toes…”

Mustering up all of his Gryffindor courage, drawing strength from where there was none, he did the hardest thing he could possibly have done: what he wanted.

He relinquished control to Riddle. If there was a chance to break his prison of silence, it was now.

“Do your worst,” he said, quietly. It didn’t sound or even feel like surrender. It sounded like a _plea_.

Riddle’s eyes _flashed_. “Now, _that_ is interesting. I thought, perhaps, you found solace in your silence,” he said, stroking his hair in such a way that Harry _melted_. “But you actually _want_ me to break you, do you not?”

Unable to meet his eyes, Harry nodded feverishly. He couldn’t say that out loud. Hell, he hadn’t even admitted it to _Voldemort_ , but he was sure the man knew anyway.

“Look at me,” Riddle said, his voice suddenly soft. He tilted Harry’s head by the chin until their eyes met. There was something very intense in that gaze, Harry was starting to feel lost in it. “Tonight, you will let go completely. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Oh, they were doing this again. Harry took a deep breath, begging his goddamn body to please, _please_ cooperate.

“Yes…” He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

“You will have to forgive me, Harry, but I have to make absolutely sure. What is it that you understand? What will you do tonight?” There was a dangerous gleam in those ruby eyes, and that smirk spelled trouble.

But Harry had practically begged for this, hadn’t he? He steeled himself, testing the feel of his tongue in his mouth before he could form the words.

“I… w-will let go— _oh_!” His attempt at words ended in a sharp gasp, almost a whimper, as Riddle bit his neck, in a particularly sensitive spot.

Harry squirmed, feeling like another crack was forming. It should have felt liberating, he wanted this, he wanted to be free from the oppressive silence, but he was _terrified_.

His breathing came in shallow puffs of air as Riddle licked the sensitive bite mark. “You asked,” he said. “And I shall deliver.”

The locket pulsed hot against his chest, in time with his own stuttering heartbeat. Harry wished his hands were untied so he could feel if Riddle’s heart was in sync, too.

He trailed kisses down Harry’s throat, down to his chest, leaving a trail of fire in his wake, and nibbled on one of his nipples. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat, and Riddle could probably feel his erratic pulse, pleasure stirring with panic in the world’s most conflicted cauldron.

“Relax…” Riddle murmured against his nipple, his lips brushing against it. “What did I tell you?”

“T-to let… go…”

“Good. Tell me why you are not.”

Harry had to fight back frustrated tears. It was so difficult, too difficult… Riddle’s spindly fingers trailed lower, following a tingly path down his chest and abdomen, dancing around his hips.

“I… it’s… _hard_ ,” he managed to grit out, his voice wavering dangerously. Voldemort had never made him speak this much in bed. It was harder and harder by the minute. Harry licked his lips. “I… _want_ to, but I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” Riddle said, sweeping a thumb over the head of Harry’s weeping member, and drawing the quietest of gasps from him. “I can almost _taste_ your shame, Harry. It is only the two of us here. And my main self, watching. But you are already… well _acquainted_ with him, are you not?”

Voldemort was _watching_? A shameful flush spread further on his skin, he wanted to hide away, he…

His cock _pulsed_ under Riddle’s fingers.

“See? There is nothing to be ashamed of. You want this, and you know it. We both know it. You can let yourself feel... You can just…” Riddle mouthed the words against his chest, sensually. “Let go…”

Oh, and Harry _wanted_ to, so badly. Riddle sleeked him up with his own precum and started stroking him slowly, and he didn’t want to close his eyes, he wanted to burn this into his memory, but they fluttered shut anyway, and the tried to focus on the sensation, heightened by his lack of sight.

He was starting to relax…

“Harry… tell me how this feels.”

 _Drift away, Harry. Drift away…_ he told himself.

“It f-feels… lovely…” He said, his throat starting to ease up, just a little. Just a tiny bit… “Y-your hand… it’s so firm—“

His breath hitched, as he noticed something that definitely was not his hand.

Riddle’s erection, pressed against his. “Keep talking,” he murmured.

“S’good…” Harry murmured, and a gasp escaped him when Riddle rubbed their erections together, and it felt _slick_ , had he used a lube charm? The delicious friction had Harry rolling his hips, legs trembling. “S-so good…”

“Yes, Harry, you are doing so well… how does _this_ feel?” Riddle asked again, probing at his entrance with a slick finger.

It was sudden, unexpected, Harry could barely breathe.

“It… it… f-feels…” Riddle’s finger brushed against his prostate, and the words he’d tried to form became garbled in his throat, an entirely foreign, unfamiliar sound coming from him. “Mngh!”

Riddle chuckled against his chest, and he _liked_ that sound, because his erection twitched against Harry’s.

Before he could process what was happening and the implications of it, a second finger entered him, stretching him, tickling his insides, probing deeper, and Harry was panting, perhaps a bit louder than usual, and a third finger joined the other two, and Harry was gasping for breath, clawing desperately at thin air as his bindings didn’t let him hold on to Riddle for dear life like he wanted to.

“Keep talking, and dear Merlin, keep _breathing_ ,” he said, pulling his fingers away. That could mean one thing only. Yes, yes, yes, Godric yes…

Riddle shifted a bit, pulling away so he was properly positioned, and closer to Harry’s face. He stared at him intently. “If you do not let go, I swear to Salazar I am not allowing you release.”

Harry shivered, and Riddle entered him in one fell swoop.

He gasped, the breath utterly knocked out of him. It burned, but he’d long learned that after the pain came blinding pleasure, and he was adjusting.

“Now… how does this feel?”

Harry was about to respond, his lips parting to say the words, but suddenly, Riddle started moving, setting a brutal pace Harry had no hope to brace himself for, and the air left his lungs in a series of stuttering noises, in time with each thrust.

He couldn’t answer. It was like the dam, the barrier of ice around his lungs was _shattered_ into a million pieces, and every time Riddle hit his prostate, he bit his neck, fucked him _so good_ into the mattress, instead of words a myriad of guttural noises came out. They felt utterly foreign, unfamiliar and strange, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop…

“ **Yessss… let go, Harry, let go…** ” Riddle hissed against his ear, and the closest thing to a moan that Harry had ever uttered in his life escaped his throat, and it was so _overwhelming_ …

Harry let go, the sheer catharsis of being able to _voice_ his pleasure, albeit clumsily, bringing him to tears. It was too much, too much… strangled moans and hitching sobs of relief made for a strange cacophony, and he was utterly _wrecked_.

“ **Does it not feel good? To let go? You are so good, Harry… so good…** ”

Harry nodded feverishly, almost incoherently, a little whine leaving him at the praise. It was all so intense, he couldn’t take it, Riddle’s hisses, his voice husky with lust and punctuated by the merciless thrusts, pounding into him, he was about to…

“ **F-fuck… Tom, I will… I’m gonna…** ” Harry hissed senselessly, writhing in place and wrapping his legs around Riddle’s waist, instinctually _needing_ , _wanting, yearning_ to be closer…

“ **Do it, Harry... Come for me. Let go, completely...** ”

And he did. Harry came so hard his vision blurred around the edges, hearing a loud, garbled cry that he only realized was his because his throat hurt. His stomach was coated in white, and Riddle kept fucking him through his orgasm, chasing his own release at the same brutal pace, drawing whimpers from Harry.

And when Riddle finally came, filling Harry with his hot seed and his face scrunched up as if in pain, he did so with such a _beautiful_ moan, Harry finally understood.

Because he would do _anything_ to hear a sound like that from him, or Voldemort, again.

The ice around his lungs had shattered, the shards leaving him sore and tender, vulnerable. Riddle licked the tear tracks away from his face, and Harry looked at him, his gaze unguarded.

“…please kiss me?” He whispered, and Riddle rolled them over to their side, still panting, and he didn’t snog him, not at first.

He trailed kisses along his jawline, over his eyelids, on his nose and cheeks. And _then_ he kissed him on the lips, slow and sweet, and Harry was a puddle, uncaring that this position made his bound wrists strain, he just _needed_ this right now.

“You were so good, Harry. So good…”

He barely noticed the green light that filtered through the room disappearing gradually, until Riddle started looking a twinge more ethereal, like the diary horcrux. Harry’s wrists were freed, and before he could rub at them, a forked tongue lapped at the sore and tender flesh, gently. Harry hummed at the sensation, shifting to get a bit more comfortable.

The mattress dipped as Voldemort lay next to him. “I agree,” he said. “Such a good boy, you made so much progress…”

His voice was a bit husky, like it was after he’d come. Had he been touching himself? Had he been feeling their pleasure? Harry felt warm all over at the prospect.

“T-thank you… thank you both…”

Riddle, at his side, held him close to his chest from behind. He was still solid, but felt a bit cold to the touch. Maybe he’d been feeding off the intense emotions to stay like this.

Voldemort, to his credit, didn’t bristle in jealousy like he half-expected he would, instead wrapping him in an embrace of his own, covering the three of them with a blanket. “Anything for you, Harry,” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to his lips.

Utterly sandwiched, cocooned by the possessive arms of two facets of the same person, Harry felt _loved_. He drifted off into a comfortable sleep, knowing that he was safe.

The ice in his lungs had broken. Perhaps it would grow back, but for now, he would enjoy the warmth.


End file.
